


never leave well enough alone

by charleybradburies



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Castles, Engagement, F/M, Fuck Canon LBR, Gendry is a Baratheon, House Baratheon, Idiots in Love, Kissing, Love, Not Canon Compliant, POV Arya Stark, Reunions, Reunited and It Feels So Good, Season/Series 08, Short, Short One Shot, Storm's End (ASoIaF), Surprises, Travel, True Love, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-19
Updated: 2019-05-19
Packaged: 2020-03-08 04:55:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18887584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charleybradburies/pseuds/charleybradburies
Summary: Arya's post-KL path takes her south to surprise her beloved.(I know a ton of people have written for this lovely prompt now, but have my little thing anyway, lol. Let me know what you think, if you want more, etc!)[title from me! by taylor swift & brendon urie]





	never leave well enough alone

It’s a surprisingly easy decision, really, once she takes the moment to think on it - Sansa’s words, Sandor's, Gendry’s, echoing against each other in her head as the smooth white mount walks atop the light snow that’s falling in the Crownlands. She’s glad to know that it’s snow, here, glad for the falling flakes to be cold against her skin instead of still-warm ash. She won’t soon forget the horrors she’s riding away from, but perhaps snow and rain can wash some of it from her skin.

She’d never be a perfect Lady, let alone the Lady southroners would expect, and for all Gendry’s promise he had a great deal to learn about being a Lord, but they could be together, and they could be _good_ , and with all the death and sadness she knew she could not relinquish the dream of that. She knew not how Jon would handle Daenerys, let alone his own claim, but she’d long known she did not care for the depths and dangers of politics, and even the responsibility of a kingdom and its people was a welcome one in contrast to playing a game that did no more than slaughter people who wanted nothing but life.

She’d tried to convince herself of want of so many things, and yet in the end, Arya did want life as much as any common man or woman - to have it, to appreciate it, even to give it, and she’d not wanted life so badly as she had when she imagined it with Gendry. She could not know what was to come, but she can follow her own heart, and so she takes the kingsroad south, knowing it will take her all the way to Durran’s Point.

~~

She’s not who the maester and the castellan expect to be greeting, and she surely looks more a mess than most ladies they’ve seen in recent years, but she thinks of Sansa and their mother and presents the most lovely, genteel Arya she can muster upon her arrival. Her truer self emerges barely moments later, emphasizing that she feels capable of beginning the household management without her intended present - she was the one who’d been raised in a castle, after all - but by that time, Ser Farring, if not Maester Jurne as well, seems to be charmed by her, and it doesn’t seem they intend to argue, only offer their help. It had been quite a while for them without a noble family in their castle, and they seem pleased to have someone, even if that someone is not a Baratheon in name.

(Not yet, at least, and perhaps that’s behind their reasoning, but they accept her presence so she doesn’t question them.)

She would be no Arya Underfoot in this castle, but neither would she be Arya Horseface. Lady Arya, she makes a point of insisting, too, not Lady Stark - and even with the title, she cannot imagine Gendry preferring his father’s name to his own, so he is like to be Lord Gendry in address, besides. 

(A fitting pair, Sansa had mused: a fighting lady who disdained the expectations of her noble birth, and a lowborn lord who’d only ever expected to be a blacksmith.)

And a fitting pair, she agrees, they are. She hopes Gendry still agrees as well. Some, more reasonable, part of her, knows that his declarations were genuine, but she cannot help but fear yet another rejection. In a way, she’d deserve that, for without even intending she had inflicted on him perhaps even worse pain than that of his long-past abandonment of her. She’d abandoned him in turn, to seek revenge that was no longer hers to seek, without so much as a true explanation, and if he could not trust her to love him after that she could not blame him. But all she has is hope, now, and she had no intention of giving it up, certainly not without hearing from him.

~~

She finds herself more sensitive, almost uncharacteristically so, with many of her new people. Her given handmaiden Aemma is a sweet young girl who helps the maester tend to her face then softly insists Arya should take her pick of any proper lady’s clothing left in the castle, even before heading out to see the scenery around the area, and Arya surprises herself by being agreeable to the suggestion. They settle on a dress quite similar to her own clothing, and Aemma promises her “battle dress” will be washed and mended soon. Arya doesn’t quite mind having to go without it, as it’s heavy in the greater humidity of the south, and stiff with ash and blood, and thinks perhaps she’ll write to ask Sansa for a dress more suited to herself if people were to continue expecting that of her. Some things would be easier not to argue about, after all; she’d choose her battles as best she could.

For the castle’s longtime lack of nobility, it’s still populated, primarily the garrison and their families, who’ve held it since Stannis’ campaign, if not before. Numerous children excitedly assist Ser Farring in showing their new lady around, showing her about the castle and over by the cliffs, where fog and darkness don’t quite hide the dark waters of the bay. 

_Not a bad place to grow up,_ Gendry echoes inside her mind as she walks near the cliff’s edge, breathing in the sweet, fresh air with her arms outstretched and children’s laughter behind her. Perhaps someday her own children would join them, some that looked like her and some like Gendry.

She shouldn’t think on it too much, though, in case they never did.

~~

Her first evening at Storm’s End boasts a good meal and a very nice bath. The first night itself is quite strange; she’s not slept in a castle she didn’t know, let alone a bed in one, in years, and she wonders, not for the first time, if she simply should have stayed at Winterfell while the southron war was waged. Would she have decided to come here if she’d simply heard of the events at King’s Landing, though? Would she and Gendry have had the conversations they still need to have if she had stayed? She could not know, of course, but the desire to know how they truly stood taunts her until sleep finally takes her for its own, at the hour of the wolf, with wind howling outside the windows.

~~

_She’s been a Northern fool,_ she thinks, just like people had said of Jon and her father, when Maester Jurne leads his new lord into the round hall. She’s had the high table moved to be on even ground with the others, like at Winterfell, but still has taken the tall central chair at it to listen to the couple petitions people thought to bring to her, and she has a very clear view of the entryway, a very clear view of the moment through which Gendry’s confusion quickly makes way to simple surprise and then to what she manages to recognize as adoration - love so certain she’s embarrassed to have doubted it. She hastily shoves the seat back, rushing around the table to meet him in the middle of the room, no greeting but their grips around each other and a needy, greedy kiss. She doesn’t know how long they’re ensconced in each other before they do break an inch away, too soon for her liking but considerate if one keeps in mind they’ve company.

“We’ll speak later,” she says, breathlessly, and Gendry nods, tears coming to his eyes but a smile on his lips. He winds an arm around her waist, and presses a gentle kiss to her forehead, caring not to press quite where the scar from King’s Landing might yet remain. 

“I was afraid I’d never even see you again, after -”

“I told you a long time ago I wanted you to be my family. I may not like what people want a lady to be, but I’m still too stubborn to let go of us.”

Her voice has grown softer, and she watches him consider her for a moment, like perhaps he’d think of something even grander to say. But he doesn’t, and she’s glad of it.

“Good,” he answers her, firm and true, and she pulls him into a kiss again, her own smile against his.


End file.
